


The Colonel and The Gypsy

by DementedPixie



Series: Demented Pixie's Pros Fic [21]
Category: Cluedo (TV 1990), Ladder of Swords (1990), The Professionals (TV 1977)
Genre: Crossover, M/M, Sexy Times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:42:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22651189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DementedPixie/pseuds/DementedPixie
Summary: There's been a murder at Arlington Grange...PLEASE DO NOT RE-POST THIS STORY ON ANY OTHER PLATFORM.
Relationships: Don Demarco/Colonel Mustard
Series: Demented Pixie's Pros Fic [21]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1264832
Kudos: 4





	The Colonel and The Gypsy

**Author's Note:**

> My name is Demented Pixie and I’m a Pros fan, but that hasn’t always been my name. If you knew me as In Love With Both and you’re a friend, then you’ll already know why I left the fandom some years back. But, hey, a girl can change her mind, and I have therefore decided to re-share my Professionals fanfiction on this amazing Archive – no changes, no improvements, no alterations. I’ll be posting them just as they were written. No comments, no trolls, and no betas. Just me and my stories. I’m sharing them so that they can take their place in the archive, but I’m also sharing them for the Pros generation, for those future generations yet to discover Bodie and Doyle, and for Sandra, who has never ceased waving pompoms for all Pros fanfiction writers.  
> The following story was written by me in 2011.

Chapter One

“I tells ye before and I’ll not tells ye again! Get arf our laaand!” 

Colonel Mustard, owner of Arlington Grange and the land surrounding it for as far as the eye could see, winced as he heard his gamekeeper’s voice. He’d known Fred Simpkins for ten years now and never tired of hearing the laughable way his accent changed to suit each situation. But his ‘salt of the earth yokel’ was without doubt the worst rendition of the lot. Wondering what he was up to now, he strode purposefully through the woodland with his dogs leaping ahead of him. As the woods thinned into a small clearing and he stepped out into it, he realised at once what the problem was. A small group of Gypsies had taken up residence and the gamekeeper was taking somewhat extreme measures to try to get rid of them. 

He paused at the edge of the clearing for a moment, assessing the scene being played out before him. A handsome man with short dark hair, a military moustache and expressive blue eyes, he was also somewhat formidable in appearance, dressed as he was in a barber jacket, tight corduroy trousers and sturdy walking boots. He clicked his tongue in command and the collection of eager spaniels immediately rushed to heel. 

As the gamekeeper’s shouted words faded away they were replaced by the growl of heavy machinery and then, terribly and almost unbelievably, manure started to spurt out of a mechanical muck spreader. In only a few moments it had entirely coated the circle of caravans and assorted vehicles, the inhabitants too terrified to show their faces in case they received the same treatment. 

The Colonel shook his head. Fred’s exuberance to resolve problems around the estate often meant he acted without thinking and certainly without obtaining prior permission from his employer. Colonel Mustard knew from past experience that there were effective ways of dealing with situations like this, but this most certainly wasn’t one of them. He approached the scene confidently, walking up behind Fred so that he could place his hand on his shoulder. “That’s enough, Simpkins,” he instructed, his tone firm. 

“Aye sir,” said Simpkins, reluctantly. He nodded at one of the team of helpers who then moved towards the machine to turn it off, too late for the caravans. The damage was done. The assembled group of gardeners and groundsmen laughed amongst themselves as the stinking putrid mess began to drip off the caravan roofs and walls. 

At that moment two men came running towards them from the nearby copse of trees, shouting their anger at the sight of their homes being so cruelly vandalised.

Simpkins raised his shotgun and aimed it at the new arrivals, just as the pack of gun dogs took up his cue and started to bark loudly. “Best you stops there,” he shouted.

“What the fuck’s going on?” cried the first of the two men. 

“We’re entitled to fertilise our land, sunny,” Fred replied with a sneer. “Not our fault you travellers gets in the way.”

The man stepped forward, his fists clenched. “You bastards,” he snarled. His friend held him back by pulling on his arm. 

Simpkins waved the gun again to get their attention. “You lot just clear off now, if ye know what’s good for ye.”

The second man eyed the gun somewhat warily. “What about our women and kids? They could get ill from what you’ve done,” he said, his voice cracking with a mixture of anger and emotion. 

The Colonel had so far been distracted by one of the younger dogs who still felt it was appropriate to demand dog biscuits every five minutes of the day, but he looked up at the sound of the second voice and narrowed his eyes, noting the shaggy hair, greying beard and scruffy clothes of the speaker. The first man had spoken in the rough London accent so common for the region, Arlington Grange being situated in Buckinghamshire only an hour from the Capital, but he judged this second one to be Irish Liverpudlian. Although understandably angry, this second man looked as if he wanted to escape the scene as fast as possible. He didn’t give the appearance of having a guilty conscience as such, more the impression of being extremely nervous of the large group of assembled people. The Colonel wondered to himself what his story was and if all gypsies acted as shifty as he did, even when they were quite clearly the victim with a fully justified complaint. 

“Well if ye all just bugger off like I tells ye, you’ll not get ill, will ye?” Simpkins waved the gun again. “Now ger on wi ye.”

The shaggy haired man pulled at his friend’s arm again, presumably realising there was no point arguing. “Come on, Paddy,” he said. 

“That’s it, me laddo, ye talk some sense into him.”

Paddy glared at Simpkins, then put his thumb behind his front teeth and flicked it forward. “I curse you, you bastard. May you forever wander over the face of the earth, never sleep twice in the same bed and never drink water from the same well."

Simpkins laughed at that, pulling a face as if he had never before heard anything so ridiculous. “I’ve been cursed by better men than ye, me laddo, now get out a here afor I lamp ye one!”

The two men reluctantly began to walk away and Simpkins turned back to his employer, making the rifle safe as he cocked it over his arm. “Alright, sir?”

“Yes,” replied the Colonel, frowning and chewing his lip, thoughtfully. “I suppose all that was absolutely necessary?”

“Had no choice, sir, they been told but they still ‘ere. Is the only way to make ‘em see sense, see?”

“I see.” The Colonel quietened the dogs as they leapt up at him adoringly. As he started to turn away he glanced back at the pitiful group of caravans, noticing that the doors had started to open as the occupants emerged from within. The man with the shaggy hair looked back at precisely the same moment and for a second, their eyes met. The man’s lips moved and he seemed to be saying something, but he spoke too quietly for the Colonel to hear what it was. The two men stared at each other across the small clearing for what seemed like an eternity.

Then the group of hired hands turned to begin the long walk back to Arlington Grange, forcing the Colonel out of his reverie. He turned away with them, his dogs once again leading the way. A hard man but fair, he felt uneasy about the gypsies and the way they had been dealt with. He dearly wished he had been able to hear what the scruffy looking man had said to him. It bothered him, for some inexplicable reason. But then Simpkins caught up alongside and started chatting about the forthcoming shooting season. His attention thus distracted, Colonel Mustard gave the gypsy no further thought. 

********

Colonel Mustard was quiet and thoughtful as he dressed for dinner, still brooding over what had happened in the woods earlier that evening. He didn’t like wanton destruction and he was sure there must have been an easier way to give the travellers fair warning that it was time to move on. He paused in front of the long mirror which stood in the corner of his bedroom and concentrated on knotting his bow tie. 

A knock at the door distracted him from his task. “Come,” he said. 

Not unexpectedly, a beautiful young woman sashayed her way into his bedroom. She paused, making sure she had his full attention, then moved elegantly towards him, the silk of her floor length gown making a swishing noise as she glided nearer. “Walk me down to dinner?” she asked, a coy smile playing on her lips. 

“You look lovely, Vivienne,” he murmured, realising how much trouble she had gone to in order to make sure of exactly that response. 

“Having trouble with your tie, darling?” she asked, reaching out to rectify the problem before he could object. He waited patiently while she battled with the bow, then politely held out his arm. With a bat of her eyelashes she slipped her slender arm through his and together they walked down to the dining room. 

********

It is true to say that Colonel Mustard was a reluctant heir. After an unhappy childhood and a period of time away at a much hated boarding school he had finally found some level of happiness by burying himself in his Army career, hoping to avoid the responsibility of managing such a large and time consuming estate. But when his Father died the previous summer he had inevitably inherited the house and grounds along with all that entailed and, somewhat to his surprise, he now found himself to be the subject of great interest to an inordinately large number of attractive single ladies. This did not sit well with him at all and he would have given anything to have been able to shirk his responsibility. 

Tonight was no exception. He sat at the head of the finely adorned table looking along the line of guests, trying to keep track of the various conversations even though he was secretly disinterested in contributing to any of them. He hated all this fake splendour so very much. After years of being controlled by his domineering Father he had finally found some self respect and control over his own life when he joined the Army. And damned good he was at it, too. But now his Father seemed once again to be controlling his future, even from the grave. There was nothing the Colonel could do about it; his responsibility to the family had been laid out before him very clearly, even though he fought against it at every turn. Rebelling even now, he refused to join in any of the conversation taking place around the table. His mind drifted back again to the woods and the gypsy camp. How on earth were they going to get all that disgusting mess off their homes? Maybe tomorrow he’d send Simpkins down with a water pump to wash it all off. He thought about the gypsy and wondered again what that last message had been. There was something about the man... he couldn’t explain it, but he was having great difficulty getting that last image of him out of his head. 

A gentle but persistent cough in his ear shook him from his thoughts. Vivienne was simpering at him, her eyes wide. “Penny for them?” she said, perfect lips smiling. He wondered vaguely how she managed to keep her lipstick looking as if it had just been applied when she had just devoured a three course meal. 

“I was just thinking about the gypsies,” he replied, honestly. 

Her face dropped almost comically. “Oh. Really? What a strange thing to be thinking about.”

“Bloody travellers,” said Professor Plum, eccentric, rich neighbour and old family friend. “You did a good thing there, my boy.”

The Colonel was quite frankly stunned by his comment. “A good thing? Spraying them with effluent? I can’t see how that is a good thing.”

“I tell you this,” replied Plum, waving his solid silver bread knife in the air. “Leave them where they are and you’ll soon lose all the family silver. No good, the lot of them.”

As the conversation inevitably turned into a reviling of the entire gypsy race, Colonel Mustard fiddled with his wine glass, wishing with all his heart that the evening would soon be over. Despite her very best endeavours Miss Vivienne Scarlet failed to produce any further spark of interest from her dinner companion until, reluctantly, she turned away to talk to the other guests. 

And the Colonel carried on thinking about the gypsy.

********

The next morning dawned bright and sunny. Colonel Mustard breakfasted alone, as always, then stood at the morning room window looking out at the day. A ride, that was what he needed and within minutes he was purposefully striding out to the stables to saddle up his favourite mare. A few minutes more and he was flying along with the great exhilaration brought on by the combination of favourable weather conditions and the beauty of the surrounding lands. He galloped his mare happily across the fields, jumping the hedgerows confidently whenever they dared to get in his way. 

Several hours later he had covered almost all the land that belonged to the Grange until, eventually, he found himself approaching the clearing where the gypsies had set up camp. He reigned in his horse and looked out over the scene. 

The gypsies had not been lazy since the cruel incident of the day before. All the manure was now gone and the occupants were energetically washing down and polishing their caravans and lorries. There was no trace of what had been done to them and The Colonel found himself wishing that he had remembered to send Simpkins down with that water pump, not that they looked like they needed it. 

It wasn’t long before he spied the man from the day before. He was wearing the same clothes, jeans and a baggy grey jumper and was directing some of the children as they washed down one of the transit vans. Laughing and joking they began to splash water at him and instantly the washing task turned into a full blown water fight. The man picked up the lid of a metal dustbin and used it as a shield while at the same time managing to fill an old lemonade bottle with water and squirt it at the nearest child. The children squealed with glee and attacked the man en masse. 

The Colonel found himself smiling down at the proceedings, half wishing he could join them. His station in life hardly leant itself to impromptu water fights and he missed such japes from his days in the army. Then, with some embarrassment, he realised he had been spotted. The man was looking up at him, his expression open and clearly curious. In an instantaneous repeat of what had taken place the day before, they stared at each other while time somehow stood still around them. The man smiled and tilted his head, evidently trying to work out his visitor’s intentions. Politely, the Colonel nodded his head at him, then turned his horse back towards home. He didn’t have the nerve to look back. 

*******

That evening’s engagement had been a visit into town to the theatre with Miss Scarlet. However, despite her best efforts, Colonel Mustard had not enjoyed the show. It was a rather silly farce with lots of slamming of doors and double entendre, not his kind of thing at all. But he had gone along with Miss Scarlet out of politeness and was now doing the same again by entertaining her with a light supper. 

She simpered across the table at him as she held out her champagne flute for a re-fill. “I came looking for you today,” she said, with a coy smile.

“Oh yes?” The Colonel concentrated on loading his freshly baked blini with caviar.

“I called to see if you would like to ride out, but Mrs White said you’d already gone.”

“Indeed.” Good grief, what did this woman want from him, a daily itinerary of his activities? His lips narrowed as he bit back his reactive response. 

Miss Scarlet frowned at him. She was struggling these days to judge the ever changing moods of her companion and if the thought wasn’t too preposterous for her to contemplate, it almost seemed like he didn’t want her there. 

They finished their meal in silence. 

********

Colonel Mustard softened a little as she got into her car and even gave her a smile as he watched her gracefully slide onto the seat in the perfect ladylike manner, obviously taught to her at finishing school. There was no way she’d be giving anyone a glimpse of her underwear, not matter how short the skirt. “Will I see you tomorrow?” she asked, her eyes wide, not entirely sure what it was she had done wrong.

“Erm, I’m not sure what’s in my diary for tomorrow,” he said, desperately trying to think of something believable. 

“Then perhaps dinner?” The cheek of the woman was something to be admired, either that or she was so keen on him she was missing all the signals he was throwing her way. He found he really didn’t want to think about that possibility. 

“Dinner, yes, of course.” She held out her hand and he gallantly kissed the back of it. He really was going to have to let her down gently soon, very soon, before this got even more out of hand. He didn’t know exactly what he wanted out of life, but he knew it wasn’t Miss Vivienne Scarlet. 

********

The next day the recent front of pleasant weather had broken, but a little cold air didn’t stop Colonel Mustard from going out on another ride. Once again he ended up back at the gypsy encampment and he stood on the slight incline for some time, watching the gypsies going about their business. The man he had been hoping to see didn’t disappoint him. He was sat outside his caravan feeding a small fire with rubbish and it didn’t take him long to spot the horse and its rider. 

The Colonel simply didn’t know what to do. All his years of education and breeding had not given him the necessary guidance on how to begin a conversation with a common gypsy. He didn’t mean to appear to be a snob, he simply didn’t understand the etiquette of the situation. He found he dearly wanted to go down and speak to the man, to ask about his life and to know more of how the gypsies lived and survived from day to day. But there was no invitation forthcoming and if he was honest, he just didn’t have the nerve. 

One thing was clear, however. Despite the physical distance between them, there was definitely something growing between the two men. Neither of them would have been able to name it even if pushed, but it was there. 

Eventually the Colonel turned for home but he had to admit, he found it very hard to leave. 

********

There was important work to do that day, papers to be signed and a batch of new tenancies to be agreed. But Colonel Mustard was finding it exceptionally hard to concentrate. He’d eaten his afternoon tea readily enough, making the most of the earl grey and hot crumpets, but his mind simply wasn’t on his work. He paced the floor of his study, prodded the fire with the poker, shuffled papers distractedly and generally avoided his duties. 

Abruptly he’d had enough and despite the darkening skies of the late afternoon, he grabbed his overcoat and made his way back to the stables. 

********

Light was fading as he reached the clearing for the second time that day. He jumped down from the saddle, making sure that he kept a respectful distance from the encampment as he led the mare down to the river and allowed her a drink. The sound of gentle music permeated the air, accompanying the murmur of voices. The hairs prickled on the back of his neck, warning him he was being watched. It was torture to do so but he managed to stand firm, refusing to allow himself the pleasure of turning around. 

There was a crunch of footsteps which paused a short distance away, then a hesitant voice. “Won’t you have a drink with us?” 

Slowly he turned, to find himself only a few feet away from the man he had become so fascinated by over the last few days. 

His throat suddenly dry, he swallowed noisily. Then he smiled and nodded. The gypsy held his hand out to take the reins from him, which he used to lightly tether the horse to a nearby tree. Then he gestured for the Colonel to sit on a bench near the fire, near enough to welcome the warmth, but a discrete distance away from the rest of the group. 

Still feeling a little unsure, he accepted the can of lager offered to him and watched intently as the gypsy sat beside him. 

“Cheers,” said the gypsy, clinking cans with him.

“Yes, thank you,” stammered the Colonel. “Cheers.”

The gypsy slurped at the top of his lager. “Nice mare.”

Colonel Mustard threw a glance her way, seeing that some of the children had gone over to stroke her and feed her carrots. “Nelly? Oh yes, I’ve had her since she was a foal.”

The gypsy leaned forward a little. “I’ve seen you riding a few times the last few days.”

“Yes.” The Colonel blushed. He wondered what on earth this man must think of him, some kind of groupie with a gypsy fetish, perhaps?

“So what should we call you?” asked the gypsy with a smile, trying to ease the man’s obvious embarrassment. 

“Me? Oh, just call me Mike.” 

“Mike?” The Gypsy was surprised for a moment, knowing full well who his host was and feeling quite honoured to have been given his Christian name to call him by. After a moment he seemed to accept it though and added, simply, “I’m Don.”

Mike looked up at him then, drawn in to the attractive face that was caught in the fire light as it danced over sharp blue eyes. “Pleased to meet you, Don,” he said, a genuine smile crinkling his features for the first time in days. 

********

As the Colonel finished his third lager he suddenly realised how much time had gone by. Guiltily he checked his watch. He was going to be late for dinner. His actions hadn’t gone un-noticed and Don leaned across towards him, concern on his face.

“You have to go?” 

“Yes, I’m expected. Sorry” And the Colonel meant the apology sincerely. An hour or so spent in Don’s company had lifted his spirits to an incredible level. They had chatted a little, mainly about light inconsequential things such as the weather, as if both of them realised they needed to stay away from more reactionary subjects like whose land the caravans were sited on. But most of the time Mike had been content to sit and watch Don interacting with the others as he gave the children piggy back rides to their beds, fed the dogs, checked on Mike’s horse for him and tended the fire. The man was so at home here, so natural. Somehow he had made the stiff lipped Colonel feel at ease amongst this group of travellers, something that Mike would never have thought possible. And underneath it all Mike felt stirrings of something else, something that lit up inside him every time Don threw a smile his way. He had no idea if the man felt the same way in return, but increasingly it dawned on Mike that this was what he wanted. Not the elegant and refined beauty of a well groomed debutant, but this honest, open trust and friendship. This warmth. And yes, this passion. 

He was very late to dinner. 

********

Chapter Two

A fierce storm had moved across the valley during the course of the evening, echoed both in the weather outside and at the dining table inside. Miss Scarlet had shown a high degree of restraint when the Colonel had eventually arrived for dinner, breathless and soaked to the skin. He’d given her a rushed apology before disappearing to change his clothes and she had bitten back a hundred angry and sarcastic comments, as if she realised that for her to react in such a way would doom their relationship once and for all. 

The Colonel rather wished she had given in to her natural reaction, at least it would have proved she was a real person with real emotions, instead of this pimped up Barbie doll. 

Denied the scene that he had secretly been hoping for, the two ate dinner under a smoke screen of enforced politeness. The only true reaction he received from her all evening was when, in a desperate attempt to avoid them sitting in complete silence, he had mentioned his ride to the gypsy camp. At this her eyes narrowed and her lips parted, pure jealousy seeping from every pore. 

“To check on when they are leaving?” she asked, curtly.

“Not really,” Mike shrugged. “Just to see if they needed any help after the other day.”

“Help?!” she snorted. “People like that don’t need help, Mike, they take what they want without asking. You should be listening to your friends and employees who care about you and Arlington Grange. Get rid of the gypsies before you regret it.”

That sounded way too much like a threat to Colonel Mustard’s ears. “Thank you, Vivienne,” he said, in just as curt a manner. “But I think I can manage my own business affairs.”

Effectively scolded, Miss Scarlet blushed and turned her attention to desert. This evening was not going the way she had planned, not at all. 

********  
As the rain continued to fall heavily the Colonel arranged for Miss Scarlet’s car to be brought around to the front of the house, then prepared an umbrella ready to help her get to her vehicle without spoiling her clothes. 

“It’s a rough night,” she said, as they stood in the doorway. Despite the disastrous evening she really didn’t want to leave him on such a down note. He may never forgive her and she didn’t want that. 

“Indeed,” said Mike, vaguely.

“I could stay the night, you know, rather than travelling home in this dreadful weather,” she suggested, moistening her lips with a seductive tongue. 

At that moment the gamekeeper arrived, hovering uncertainly in the background. “Erm, sorry, sir.”

The Colonel turned towards him, somewhat relieved. “Yes, Simpkins?”

“I’ve just locked up the stables and kennels. Mavis is missing, sir.”

The Colonel noted privately that the gamekeeper’s accent had improved somewhat now that he was in polite company. “Missing? What do you mean missing?”

“I found the back door of the kennel block open, it had probably blown open in the storm. She must have got out.”

“Damn.” Mavis was the Colonel’s favourite gun dog. He’d had her since she was a pup and, for a spaniel, she was exceptionally bright and obedient. “Right.” He turned back to Miss Scarlet, trying to keep the underlying look of relief off his face. He had an excuse to get rid of her now and both of them knew it. “Sorry, Vivienne darling. We’ll have to search for the dog. I can’t leave her out on a night like this. You’d best get home.”

Without giving her time to argue he bestowed a light kiss on her cheek, held the umbrella over her head and escorted her out to her car. He waved her off then returned back to the house, closing the door behind him to block out the storm. 

“You want me to get some of the lads out there?” asked Simpkins.

“Pardon?”

“To search for Mavis. You said we’d have to search for her.”

The Colonel had the good grace to look a little embarrassed. “Ah, no. Thank you, Simpkins. There’s nothing we can do in this weather. We’ll look for her in the morning. By then perhaps she’ll have had the sense to come home by herself.”

“Yes sir,” said Simpkins with a knowing smile. “Goodnight then.”

“Goodnight, Simpkins.”

********

It was well into the early hours of the morning when Mike gave up trying to sleep. Tired beyond belief but somehow unable to drift off, he pulled his silk dressing gown on over his pyjamas and made his way silently down to the kitchen where he knew the aga would still be warm and he could make himself something hot to drink. 

Not wanting to sit in the glare of the bright kitchen lights, he turned on the light in the pantry and propped the door open with a wellington boot. Waiting patiently for the kettle to boil he prodded the coals in the fire grate and encouraged a little more warmth into the room. He stirred his tea and added sugar then sat in the armchair by the fire, staring into the reddening coals, fascinated by the occasional spit and hiss as errant raindrops made their way down the chimney. 

He’d only just taken a sip of his tea when a sharp knock at the back door had him up on his feet in a moment. 

“Who is it?” he called. 

“It’s me, Don. Let me in.” The voice was demanding, urgent. “Quick! Please.”

He fumbled with the key in the lock then pulled the door open, standing back in amazement as he took in the sight before him. Standing in the small storm porch was the very man who was causing Mike’s sleeplessness, the scruffy looking gypsy, dripping wet with blood on his face and carrying a saturated bundle of fur. 

“My God.” He threw the door wide open, realising with horror that the bundle of fur was actually his missing dog. Don pushed past him into the warmth of the kitchen and carefully laid the dog on the rug in front of the fire. 

“What happened?”

Taking off his wet coat and throwing it into the corner, Don pushed back the dripping sleeves of his jumper and knelt down to examine the scared and whimpering animal. “Found her in a badger trap,” he said, not looking up. “I don’t know if we’re gonna save this leg.”

“Where?”

“What?”

“Where did you find her?”

“In the woods by the lake.”

Mike’s brow furrowed. “But that’s two miles away at least.”

Don looked up at that, giving him a wry smile. “You don’t need to tell me that.” 

“You’re soaked to the skin.”

“Or that.” Biting back a comment about Mike’s propensity for stating the bleeding obvious Don turned back to the dog once more, tutting over the bloody and matted mess of her leg.

A few moments later Mike placed a bowl of hot water, the first aid kit and a bottle of brandy on the floor next to him. 

“The bandages are for Mave. The brandy is for you,” explained Mike. “You look like you need it.” Then he began to stoke up the fire with a vengeance. 

Don set about cleaning the wound and cutting back the fur so he could see the extent of the damage. “Mave, eh?” he commented while he worked, privately wondering about the Colonel’s habit of giving his animals strange names. “Does she often run off like this?”

The Colonel pulled up a small kitchen stool and perched on it close to Don, watching the proceedings with interest. “We think the storm must have frightened her,” he replied. 

“Hold this.” Mike leaned forward and helped as best he could, even though his new friend seemed to be very skilled at his task. “And pass me that wooden spoon off the table.”

Mike got up to get the spoon then came back to sit on his footstool, moving it an inch or two closer as he did so. “Here,” he said, passing the spoon over. With Don distracted it was suddenly easy for Mike to broach a subject they had both been avoiding. “Listen, I’ve never said how sorry I am about what happened the other day. I didn’t ask Simpkins to do it and I’ve been worrying about it ever since. I was going to send him over to see you, to help clean it off.”

“But you didn’t?” said Don, throwing him a sideways glance. 

“I forgot.” Mike admitted. “But I’m still sorry it happened.”

Using the wooden spoon as an improvised splint, Don began to straighten and set Mave’s leg, wrapping a bandage tight around it with a skill that seemed to indicate he was well used to working with animals. Mike leaned forward to stroke her head while the final adjustments were made to the dressing. His shoulder now touching the other mans, Mike closed his eyes, revelling in the closeness of the moment. Admittedly the smell of wet dog spoiled the romance of the situation a tad, but Mike still took full advantage of the opportunity. He opened his eyes again and watched Don’s face as he worked, noting how the grey of his beard swept up into silver sideburns, how the skin at the corners of his eyes crinkled as he concentrated, and how his small earring twinkled in the firelight. 

Apparently unaware of the scrutiny he was under and his task finally finished, Don covered the now peacefully sleeping dog with a thick towel and stood up, raising a shaky hand to the cut on his temple. 

At this the Colonel’s army training kicked in and he took immediate control of the situation. “Your turn,” he said, guiding Don over to the chair and pushing gently on his shoulder to indicate he should sit. Then he got a bowl of clean water and started to wash the wound. “It doesn’t look too bad,” he commented, as he wiped the dried blood away. “What happened?”

“It got a bit wild out there,” said Don, wincing slightly as Mike worked on the cut. “I lost my footing in the stream and went over.”

As Mike leaned against Don to get better access to the wound he couldn’t help but feel the slight tremor in the man’s body. His clothes were obviously soaking wet and something would have to be done about that. He applied antiseptic cream, fixed a dressing over the wound and took a step back to look at his handy work, happy with the result. “All done,” he confirmed. 

“Never felt a thing,” said Don with a shaky smile. “Can I wash my hands?” 

“Of course, here.” Mike showed Don where everything was then left him to it, leaping up the main stairs two at a time to retrieve his own towelling bathrobe and a couple of thick warm towels from his bathroom. When he returned to the kitchen his new guest was leaning over the fire, trying to get warm. 

“You must be frozen,” he said, holding out the bathrobe. “If you give me your wet clothes I’ll hang them in the laundry. They’ll dry overnight.”

“Overnight?” said Don, raising an eyebrow. “Am I’m supposed to walk home in a bathrobe?” The Liverpudlian in his accent was coming out strong now.

“No, please. I...I thought you could use a bed for the night. It’s the least I can do.”

There was a moment’s hesitation as Don thought about the offer then, with a smile, he started to take off his clothes. Immediately embarrassed, Mike turned away and busied himself tidying up the first aid kit. 

“Where’s the laundry?” asked Don after a few minutes, now dressed in the warm ruby red monogrammed bathrobe but holding his wet clothes in a bundle. 

“Let me.” Mike took the bundle through to the laundry room and pulled out the clothes airer. As he spread them out on the wooden frame, he suddenly found himself hoping they wouldn’t dry too quickly. 

He closed his eyes and shook his head, hardly believing where his thoughts were going. But there was something about the gypsy that affected him deeply. Was he really losing his heart to this mysterious traveller? He needed to know more about him before he could be certain but he was already sure of one thing - that he had never felt quite like this about another living soul. Don seemed to fill all the aching lonely spaces in Mike’s life and chase his demons away. Could it be conceivably possible that Don might feel something in return? Sighing, Mike knew there was only one way to find out. Portraying far more outward calm than he was feeling inside, he returned to his guest. 

********

Not wanting to leave Mave alone until the vet could be called the next morning, the two men decided to move her to the drawing room so they could sit with her in comfort. Don built up the fire while Mike pulled two arm chairs forward and poured them both more brandy. At last, all three souls were warm and comfortable. 

“So,” said Don, working one of the thick towels through his wet curls.”You own all this then?”

Mike winced with embarrassment as he relaxed back into his chair. “Yes.”

“Don’t look so ashamed. I wouldn’t be if I had all this.”

“I’m not ashamed, as such. I just...”

“Just what?”

Sighing, Mike did something he very rarely did; he let his guard down and started to talk. “I never wanted it. I was happy in the army, had a good career. Now I’m in charge of all this.” He waved his arms vaguely around the room. 

“But you’re so lucky!”

“It doesn’t feel like it, I can assure you.”

“You could do so much.”

Mike tutted at that, having heard it all before. “Like what, exactly? Have afternoon tea with the vicar? Get married and produce lots of heirs? Not my style, I’m afraid.”

Don leaned forward a little, his interested piqued. This Colonel was turning out to be a far more interesting person than he could ever have imagined. “So what is your style, exactly?” he asked. 

“Being left alone. Not having to go to stupid balls or dinners. A bit of hunting, shooting,” said Mike, wistfully. “I like fishing, living off the land. Hiking, travelling. I’d like to see more of the world.”

At that Don started laughing, throwing his head back with an infectiously extravagant and natural laugh that made his companion stare in fascination. He laughed so much he had to put his glass down before he spilt the contents. 

“What have I said?” asked Mike, incredulously. 

“My God man, can’t you see it?” By now Don was laughing so much there were tears sliding down his face. “You’re no landed gentry. You’re a gypsy!”

Now he’d finally got the joke and realised its implications Mike found himself first chuckling, then laughing as loud and as long as his new friend. 

Mave woke up at the noise, eyed her human companions curiously, then dropped off back to sleep again. She never had been able to understand human behaviour. 

*********

The two men settled into comfortable and easy chat as the cozy warmth of the fire helped to block out the still raging storm outside. 

“So,” said Don, the brandy giving him the confidence to be cheeky. “Mike doesn’t seem like a very aristocratic name to me.”

Mike shifted on his seat, awkwardly. “Well that’s not my full name.”

“Go on,” grinned Don, “prove yourself worthy of the stereotype.” 

Mike took another sip of brandy before admitting the awful truth, in the plumiest and most obvious public schoolboy accent that he could conjure up. “Colonel Charles Michael Aloysius St John Mustard.”

Don spluttered into his glass.“No way!”

“As I live and breathe.”

“Good God. It’s worse than I thought! Well I don’t think Mike suits you.”

“I promise you it was the best I could come up with from that little lot,” said Mike, his eyes sparkling. 

“I suppose you didn’t have much to work with.”

“You’re right there.” He leaned forward to prod the fire with the poker, looking up at his companion thoughtfully. “Tell me a bit about you. What’s your full name?” When he sensed Don’s hesitation he continued “Oh come on, it can’t be worse than mine!”

“Oh no?” Don looked suddenly apprehensive. “Donald Finbar Demarco.”

Mike frowned, a little confused by the conflicting accent and foreign sounding name. “Really? Italian, is it?”

“Er, no, I don’t think so.”

A thought suddenly occurred to Mike. “Is it your real name?”

Don blushed, his eyes fluttering downwards. “No,” he admitted, quietly. 

“So what is it? I’ve shown you mine, time for you to show me yours.” 

Don looked up, recognising blatant flirting when he heard it. “It’s not that I don’t trust you,” he said, “But I just can’t, I can’t tell you my real name. If it got out, well, I’d have no choice. I’d have to leave England again.”

Mike nodded, desperate to hear more about this fascinating person. “So tell me what you can.”

“There was some trouble,” Don paused, evidently uncomfortable about sharing his story in full and at the last moment, he decided against it. “I’ve been with a circus troop in Rumania,” was all he would admit. 

“But you came back?” asked Mike, convinced this was only the tip of a somewhat intriguing iceberg. 

Don shrugged. “Ran out of money. The van’s mine but the Transit’s borrowed. When times are hard, you go back to your people, don’t you?”

“And are they? Your people?”

“Well no, not any more. If I’m really honest with you,” he looked up, his eyes full of sadness, “I don’t know what to do. I’ve nowhere to go and no one who is in the slightest bit interested in me. I could disappear tomorrow and nobody would even notice.”

“I’d notice.” There was no hesitation in the voice, but Mike had obviously surprised himself by saying the words out loud. 

“Really?” asked Don, wondering if he was being set up. 

“Of course.”

They both paused for a moment, looking intently into each other’s eyes. 

“I might not get a choice,” said Don, softly. “The others are moving on soon.”

“I see.” A sudden sharpness nagged at Mike’s heart as he realised he didn’t want this man to go, not now and maybe not ever. “Would you...?”

“Would I what?”

“I wondered if you would consider staying on a little longer. I mean to help with Mave. As my guest.” Mike blushed a little and took a swig of brandy to cover his embarrassment. 

“To help with Mave?” Don was sure that of all the reasons Mike had for asking him to stay, Mave’s care was the very last of them. 

“Yes. You have a very good way with animals.” Mike’s nerves were showing and he looked down at his feet. “There are horses here, dogs, grouse, red deer. My gamekeeper tries his best but I really need someone who cares about animals.” He looked up, straight into clear blue eyes. “You care.”

“In that case,” said Don, thinking back to the days when a bear was his best friend and wondering if his new aristocratic friend would ever believe the story. “I’d be delighted.”

Chapter Three

Don picked up the rake and started to tidy the small stable, sweeping the clean straw into a semi circle around the bed they had created for Mavis. 

“Thank you, Roger,” said Mike, shaking the Vet’s hand. 

“No problem,” said the Vet as he closed the fastening on his bag. “Bring her back to see me at the surgery tomorrow as discussed.”

“I’ll ask Simpkins, he’ll be responsible for her from now on.”

As the Vet left the stable the other dogs started barking at him from the outside kennel, the noise only fading when he pushed the stable door shut behind him. 

Don and Mike stood close together and looked down at the sleeping spaniel. “I don’t know about leaving her out here,” said Mike, the worry in his voice still evident. 

“She’s not a house pet,” said Don, putting his hand on Mike’s shoulder. “She’s used to sleeping outside. This is luxury in comparison. And her friends and family are only a few feet away.” He looked around the five star stable block. “In fact this is better than a lot of places I’ve slept in,” he admitted, with a grin. 

“Well as long as you’re sure,” said Mike, realising exactly how close Don was now standing. Anesthetised by too much brandy and continuous warmth from the fire, the two men had eventually fallen asleep in their chairs in the small hours of the morning. When Mike finally stirred at dawn he knew he was expecting to find the gypsy gone. More than pleasantly surprised he had instead opened his eyes to the sight of the man curled up in an armchair, fast asleep and with Mike’s dressing gown falling open seductively from the thigh. Unsure of how to proceed, Mike was at that moment sure of one thing – he wanted this man in his life. 

Don relaxed his grip but still kept his hand on Mike’s shoulder. “You’re a good man, Colonel Charles Michael Aloysius St John Mustard,” he said, with a twinkle in his eye. 

With a small start of surprise Don realised that he had spoken the truth. Mike truly was a good man. Kind, caring and endearingly shy, he had worked his way into Don’s heart without him really realising. Never one with much respect for authority, Don had actively avoided any contact with those in high places since his run in with the law. But somehow Mike had managed to chip away at those walls and now he was firmly ensconced within them. Don wasn’t blind. He’d noticed those deep blue eyes watching him, melting him with their need. But it seemed Mike wasn’t so confident in return, failing to take up the obvious invitation of a deliberately open bathrobe. It appeared he needed a bit more help. 

“I try my best,” said Mike, backing up an inch until he felt the stable wall behind him. 

Don moved forward into the space that Mike had created. There was no gap between them at all now. “This tache has got to go,” Don whispered, as he ran his finger across it, tenderly. 

Mike swallowed nervously but didn’t drop his gaze. “So you don’t like my name and you don’t like my moustache.” He put one hand on Don’s waist to silently show his willingness of the situation. ”Is there anything about me you do like?”

“More than I could say, Colonel, more than I could say.” Don moved forward and, with a deep breath, he leant in for a gentle kiss. Tentatively, their lips met for the first time, Don’s tongue gently easing its way through soft wetness. Every sense overloaded, the distant scent and taste of brandy, the scratchy feel of Mike’s moustache blending with Don’s own beard, the sound of a gentle groan, wickedly long eyelashes hiding passion filled blue... 

With an urge from deep within him Mike kissed him back, putting his other hand around the back of Don’s neck to pull him closer. The action felt so natural to them both that it banished any feelings of awkwardness or embarrassment. This was right and they both knew it. 

Mike felt the grin forming on the other mans lips. “What?” he asked. 

“Tickles,” said Don, kissing him again. 

“So does yours,” Mike murmured.

“You couldn’t feel it through that caterpillar.”

Mike put his hands on Don’s shoulders and held him at arm’s length. “I’ll make a deal with you, gypsy boy,” he said, a feeling of genuine happiness surging through his body. “Gin rummy. Best of three. And the loser shaves.”

“I can’t play rummy,” said Don. “You’d have an unfair advantage.”

“Then, sir, choose your weapon.”

********

Mike put his foot in the stirrup and swung himself into the saddle, just as Don led his own horse out of the stable. 

“No saddle?” he asked, surprised.

“It’s the only way I know,” admitted Don. “What’s the problem?”

“I just want us to be on a level playing field, for fairness sake.”

“Force me into a saddle and you’ll soon be at an advantage again,” said Don, as he swung himself gracefully onto the horses back. 

“Fair enough,” nodded Mike. 

Together they trotted out of the stable yard and towards one of the fields surrounding the house. 

As they reached the entrance to one open and unploughed field, Don reigned his horse in. “To the far hedge line and back,” he said, nodding in the general direction. 

“And the loser shaves?” checked Mike, twiddling the end of his moustache, thoughtfully. 

“The loser shaves,” Don confirmed. 

“Shall I count to three?” asked Mike.

“If you like.”

“One, two...”

Before he could reach three Don kicked his legs into his horse’s underbelly and set off out of the gate, streaking across the field at great speed. 

Mike chuckled. “You little bugger,” he shouted, before clicking his own horse into action and following him as fast as he could.

Of course Don made it to the hedge before Mike did and, naturally, he made it back to the starting gate just as far ahead. Mike had been set up, but he found he didn’t seem to mind that much. When he arrived back at the gate he jumped down from his mount and pulled Don easily down from his. 

“You cheated,” he said, breathlessly, holding onto Don’s arms.

“But doesn’t my beard suit me?” said Don, cheekily. “While you’ll look gorgeous without your tache, I just know it.” 

Hidden from view by the flanks of both horses, Don leaned forward to steal the kiss of victory before they led their mounts back to the stable block. 

********

Don looked around the sumptuously decorated bedroom in some awe. “Nice pad,” he said. 

“Thank you. It’s the only room I was allowed to decorate for myself. The rest of its all listed so there are rules about what wallpaper and paint to use and the like.” Mike stammered on, showing his nerves as he turned the key in the lock of the bedroom door. “My housekeeper, Mrs White,” he explained as he realised Don was watching him. “She’s the nosiest person on the planet.”

Don smiled and reached for Mike’s hand, pulling him over to a chair by the window. “Make yourself comfortable,” he said, then disappeared into the en suite bathroom. When he came out a few moments later with an armful of towels, shaving foam and with a razor clasped between his teeth, Mike burst into somewhat hysterical laughter.

Don dumped all the items on the bed and winked at him. “Something for the weekend, sir?” he asked, as he pushed Mike back into the chair and draped one of the towels around his neck. 

“You really are going to do this,” said Mike in some amazement. 

“Of course,” said Don, mixing the shaving foam into a lather in a bowl. “You lost the bet.”

“You’d actually shave my moustache off.” Mike sounded genuinely shocked. 

Don positioned himself so that he stood astride Mike’s legs. He reached out and lifted Mike’s chin gently with his fingers. “Trust me,” he whispered. 

Mike closed his eyes, put his head back and did what he was told - he put his trust in the gypsy. 

********

“Wow,” said a breathy voice in his ear a few minutes later. 

“Can I look now?”

“Yes, but I’m beginning to regret doing it.”

“Why?” Mike panicked and reached for the hand mirror. 

“Because when the girls see you looking like this, they’ll be beating a path to your door.”

Mike looked at his new reflection, stunned into silence. 

He peeked over the top of the mirror to see Don gazing steadily at him. 

“Do you like it?” asked Don, hesitantly. 

“Do you?”

“I think you’re the most gorgeous creature I’ve ever seen in my life,” admitted Don, pulling Mike to his feet. 

Mike found he was holding his breath and he released it, slowly. “Well that’s alright then,” he said, leaning forward into the offered kiss. After a few moments he found he couldn’t help it. He smiled.

“What?” whispered Don.

“Tickles,” said Mike, his surrender total and unconditional as Don pushed him backwards onto the bed with a joyous shout. 

********

A sharp knock on the bedroom door was followed quickly by an attempt to open it. Mike and Don held their collective breath before remembering, thankfully, that they had locked the door. 

“Colonel Mustard?” called a ladies voice. 

“Mrs White,” Mike whispered, unable to fathom for the moment why he was so terrified to be caught in his own bedroom in his own home. Then he rolled his eyes upwards as he realised it may have something to do with him being entangled on the bed in another man’s embrace. 

“You have visitors. I’ve shown them into the drawing room.”

“Er,” Mike coughed to clear his throat. “Thank you, Mrs White, we’ll be right there.”

As they heard her footsteps move away Don burst out laughing. 

“What?” asked Mike.

“You said ‘We’. ‘We’ll be right there.’ That’ll get her thinking!”

“Oh, God.” Mike looked immediately distraught. 

“Hey.” Don pulled his companion into a tight hug and rolled on top of him. “You’re not ashamed of me, are you?”

Mike realised how bad his reaction must have seemed. “No, no, of course not.” He hugged Don back even tighter. “Sorry.”

“Then let’s go face the music. Together.”

********

Mrs White was just pouring the tea when Mike and Don entered the drawing room. Miss Scarlet was already seated by the window while Reverend Green was standing by the fire place looking with great interest at his plate of hot buttered tea cakes. 

Mike strode across to shake hands with the Vicar. “Reverend, how nice to see you. And Vivienne.” He moved across to the sofa and leaned down to kiss her on the cheek. “May I introduce a friend of mine, Don Demarco.”

Don nodded to them both then helped himself to a cup of tea and a tea cake. 

“Mike!” gasped Vivienne, in surprise, “Your moustache!”

“Ah, er, yes,” he stammered, taking a cup of tea from the tray. “It was a sudden impulse.”

“But you’ve had a moustache all the years I’ve known you,” said Vivienne, her bottom lip quivering slightly.

“Then it was probably time for a change,” said Don, smiling as he took a seat beside her. 

She frowned at him. “Your idea?” she asked. 

“Our idea,” said Don, looking up at Mike as he sipped his tea. She watched as Mike gave him a gentle, loving smile and was stunned when she saw it returned. 

She put her cup on the coffee table and turned towards Don, crossing one leg elegantly over the other. “I don’t think we’ve met before,” she said. 

“No,” said Don. “I moved into the area only recently.”

“Now I know you!” said Revered Green, taking in Don’s dishevelled clothes and, even more tellingly, his silver earring. “You’re one of the gypsies camped in the glade!”

“What?” said Vivienne, her eyes wide with shock.

Mike stepped forward. “Don is a friend of mine. That’s all anyone needs to know,” he said, firmly. “Now what can I do for you both? I take it you’re here to discuss the fete on Saturday?”

“Indeed,” said Reverend Green, evidently keen to say more on the subject of gypsies but unwilling to offend their host. “Are you still able to donate an auction prize?” Thus engaged in conversation, Mike was thankfully oblivious to the not so subtle battle that continued across the room. 

“I don’t know what you think you’re doing,” hissed Vivienne, keeping a fake smile on her lips, “but I suggest you move on if you know what’s good for you.”

“And why would that be?” asked Don, knowing already what her answer would be. He’d been here or here abouts many times before in his life. Nobody ever wanted gypsies, fairground people or circus folk and he was well used to the feeling by now. 

The smile she gave him was supreme in its fakeness. “We all care about Mike a great deal and don’t want to see him being made a fool of.”

“I don’t see me making a fool of anyone,” he replied, taking a bite of his tea cake. 

“Now look,” she said, leaning even closer towards him. “Mrs White already told us you were locked in his bedroom with him. I don’t know what you are after...”

“I’m not after anything,” said Don, calmly.

“That’s hard to believe, based on the usual behaviour of your... kind.”

“My kind?” said Don, amazed at her bluntness. “You mean gypsies?”

“Of course I mean gypsies,” she hissed.”You’re always out for something.”

“Well maybe this time I’m only out for what makes me and Mike happy.” Don gazed awkwardly at the floor. Damn. He hadn’t meant to let so much slip. 

Vivienne paused, taking in the implications of his response. “I think you should know that Mike and I are engaged,” she said, haughtily. 

“Really?” Don threw a surprised look across the room to Mike who was still entangled in his conversation with the Vicar. 

“Well, not exactly engaged. But I’m expecting a proposal any day now.”

“And what has that got to do with me?” asked Don, calling her bluff. 

“Only that when I heard from Mrs White that Mike was locked in his room with another person, I had assumed it to be a woman.”

“Then you don’t really know Mike as well as you think,” said Don. “Do you?”

Rose pink coloured Vivienne’s cheeks as she blushed then, abruptly, she stood up. 

“I’m leaving,” she announced. 

“So soon?” said Mike from across the room. “You haven’t finished your tea.” The cool look he gave her reaffirmed her suspicions that she was surplus to requirements. Maybe she always had been. 

“I have never been treated so badly in all my life,” she spluttered.

“Then you’ve obviously not been going to the right places,” said Don, standing up and holding out her shawl for her to put on. She grabbed at it, furiously.

Reverend Green appeared to be totally left behind by this sudden change in direction and shuffled across to the doorway to leave with her. 

“Mike,” she said, trying one last time. “I think you’ll find you’re making a huge mistake. People won’t accept this and you’ll lose everything.”

“Thank you for worrying about me,” said Mike, opening the door and walking her to the main entrance. “But I’m happier now than I’ve ever been. Goodbye, Vivienne. Reverend Green.”

With a sense of great satisfaction he watched them leave, but before he had a chance to turn away Mrs White appeared in the hallway. She couldn’t seem to look him in the eye. “I can’t stay here, sir. Not now,” she said, having the good grace to blush a little. 

“No, I do understand,” said Mike, with a sad smile. “And if that’s how you feel then you really must go. Thank you for all you’ve done for me.”

“I’ll find you a nice new housekeeper before I go,” she replied, his smile melting her resolve a little. “And I won’t leave until the end of the month. Of course I wouldn’t leave you without help around the house.” The elderly woman looked uncertain about whether to shake his hand or not and was quite shocked when he bent to give her a kiss on the cheek. 

She walked away, shaking her head. This wasn’t the Colonel Mustard she had known all these years. Her strict views made it impossible for her to stay in his employ but, deep down, she wondered if she was doing the right thing. He looked so...happy. He never usually looked like that. 

As Mike slammed the front door he felt a huge weight lift off his shoulders. He returned to the drawing room and leant against the door frame to look at the person who encapsulated his new life, who was now sitting in the sunny window seat with his feet up on an ancient Chippendale chair, happily eating toasted tea cakes. 

Mike smiled. He felt as if he hadn’t smiled, really smiled, for years. 

********

The next few days might easily be described as the best of Colonel Mustard’s life. He and his new companion spent all their time together, sharing all the things they both loved so much. Like two boys going off on an exciting adventure they had undertaken an exploration of the land surrounding Arlington Grange, hiking through the woods and rivers and camping out overnight in a small two man tent. Not that they always met eye to eye over every subject, of course. While the Colonel had been brought up on Saturday morning shooting parties where hundreds of birds lost their lives in a flurry of guns and dogs, Don could only see the point of shooting something if you intended to eat it. Their first real argument had been when the Colonel had taken aim at a grey squirrel and Don had pushed the rifle clear of its target just as he’d squeezed the trigger. The ensuing fight and wrestling match had resulted in a black eye on one side and a cut lip on the other, the sight of blood on Don’s mouth proving finally too much for Mike to bear as he kissed his apology onto angry lips.

But one thing they really did have in common was their shared sadness at the hand life had dealt each of them thus far. Born into privilege, Mike was nether the less denied love and happiness and even now felt he had no control over his future. And Don, born into poverty, had fallen foul of the law many times, eventually having to run away from the country he loved in order to save himself. During their long evenings around small camp fires he told Mike about his childhood and life so far, carefully omitting the part of the story where he was actually still a wanted man. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Mike, but he didn’t want to do or say anything that would spoil the relationship that they were slowly and gently creating. 

And at night they disappeared into sleeping bags that had started off as two and ended up being zipped together as one, kissing and loving each other to a deep, restful sleep. 

They eventually returned to the Grange together, unwashed, bedraggled but happy, after three days lost in the beautiful wilderness. 

If felt inevitable that such happiness could not possibly last. 

Chapter Four

“Please, Don, will you just give me another hour?” Colonel Mustard tried not to sound irritated. “I’ve got to get this done.”

Don kicked at the tall wooden bookcase like a petulant child. “I’m bored,” he complained. 

They’d only been back a few hours and the Colonel’s business matters had nagged him incessantly until he had taken up residence in the study and didn’t look like he was coming out any time soon. 

The Colonel sighed. Maybe he was going about this the wrong way. “Why don’t you come and help me?” he asked. 

Don looked up with a smile, his sparkling eyes reassuring Mike that he had done the right thing in asking. “Why, what are you doing?” He moved around the desk, his eyes opening widely when he saw the contents of the open drawer. “My God.”

Mike looked embarrassed again, as he always did when anything happened to draw attention to his vast inherited wealth. “I know. It’s awful isn’t it? I’ve often wondered if maybe I should just sell them all. But until then I have to evaluate them for the insurance company. Will you help?”

Don carefully picked up a silver diamond encrusted tiara from the large collection of jewellery and held it up to the light. “Wow,” he whispered. 

“Well yes, that’s the general idea,” said Mike. “But I don’t think ‘wow’ is quite the description the insurance company need.”

Pushing aside a few papers and a filing tray, Don perched himself comfortably on the desk and cleared his throat. He held the tiara back up to the light again and squinted at the hallmark. “18th Century solid silver tiara with eight claw set brilliant cut diamonds ranging from one to two carats in size, excellent condition, estimated value £125,000,” he said, turning to Mike as he finished. “Will that do?”

Mike shook his head in amazement and laughed, writing down the description before he forgot it. This gypsy amazed him more and more every single day. 

********

Miss Vivienne Scarlet had every right to feel offended by the way she had been so cruelly dropped from the Colonel’s affections. She had visited him every day that week and every day had been told that he was out. And now, once again as she drove up to the large stately house, she caught a glimpse of him disappearing off into the distance with that damned gypsy. 

Well she’d had enough of all this coming and going. This time she was going to wait for him to come back and force him to speak to her. She parked her car around the back of the property and let herself into the kitchen, hoping she could persuade Mrs White to make her a cup of tea while she waited. Tutting to herself when it appeared that Mrs White was off doing chores elsewhere, Vivienne decided to wait in the most obvious place for Mike to go back to after his walk – his study. 

Miss Scarlet would never describe herself as nosy, she was just very observant. It therefore didn’t take her long to find the jewels, still laid out in the middle of an obviously careful and meticulous inventory. With a thud she sat down in the large padded leather office chair and picked up a sapphire and diamond ring. All the jewellery pieces were very large and somewhat ostentatious, but what price a little ostentation as long as you’ve got the looks and figure to carry it off? She smiled to herself as she twirled a heavy emerald set bracelet around her fingers. All she had to do was get Mike to propose and that should be easy. She had him twisted around her little finger as easily as she had the bracelet. And then... ah damn. As the realisation set in, she dropped the bracelet back in the drawer and eased the sapphire ring off her finger. That bloody gypsy. A week ago and she was absolutely certain that Mike was going to make her his wife, then all her troubles would have been over. Of course he had no idea how totally penniless she was and how five years of feeding a gambling addiction had reduced her assets to her car, her clothes and not much else. But that was okay, he didn’t need to know. All he’d had to do was marry her. Not that there was much chance of that happening now! 

She read down the inventory list, mentally ticking off all the jewellery items one by one. Realising the job was only half done she gasped at some of the prices she saw there. And then she started to realise something else. If the job wasn’t complete, then Mike might not have a note of some of the items. She scanned the list eagerly. The emerald bracelet wasn’t registered. She picked it back up and slipped it on her wrist, fixing the catch firmly, admiring it as it sparkled in the light. Perfect. The sale of something like this could really get her out of a financial hole and, if she played her cards right, maybe she could get that bloody gypsy blamed for its loss. Sometimes things worked out as if one had planned them, didn’t they? 

She pushed at the drawer, carefully leaving it half open exactly as she had found it, then set the chair back into position. There was no sign she had been there. With a confident smile she left the room, shut the door silently behind her, turned and walked straight into Mrs White. 

“Mrs White! I’m awfully sorry. Are you all right?”

“Miss Scarlet,” said Mrs White, a little flustered. “I didn’t know you were here.”

“I’m not, I mean, of course I am.” Now Mrs White wasn’t the only one who was flustered. “I was just waiting for Mike.”

“In his study?” Mrs White didn’t look at all happy with that arrangement and then, the shock obvious on her face, she spotted the bracelet. “With his Grandmothers bracelet on your wrist?”

“What this?” said Miss Scarlet, brazen in her confidence. “This isn’t real, it’s just paste. I always wear it with this top.”

“No, I’m sorry Miss Scarlet, really I am.” Mrs White pushed past her and re-opened the study door. “But I know that bracelet well. I think I need to contact the Colonel. Simpkins will know where to find him.”

She walked over to the window to use the phone and then made the biggest mistake of her life. She turned her back to Miss Scarlet while she dialled the number. 

Miss Scarlet was surprised at how accurate the sound was, dull and heavy, as if someone was standing back stage hitting a frying pan with a cricket bat. The candlestick even vibrated satisfyingly in her hand as it made contact with Mrs White’s skull. Obviously the sound effects used in films and in the theatre were very good indeed. 

********

Leaving Don at the stables checking on Mavis, Mike made his way back to the house. His appetite had come back with a vengeance these days and he intended to find Mrs White straight away to order up some afternoon tea. A little late in the day perhaps, but dinner wasn’t due for hours and he didn’t see how he could possibly survive that long. 

It took him a while to find her, the study being the last place he would usually look. After checking the body for life signs, of which there were none, he stood rigidly staring at her for a few moments before pulling himself together. He’d seen dead bodies before, in the Army in Aden, but never a harmless grey haired old lady. Forcing the shock from his body he reached for the phone, realising with a start that it was off the hook. Stifly, he walked to the drawing room to use the telephone there instead. The police would presumably want to check the study phone for prints. He was just finishing the call when Don came rushing into the drawing room, his face white. 

“I’ve just seen her!” he cried. “Christ, what happened?”

Mike replaced the receiver and looked up at him, his expression dark. “I don’t know. I found her like that just now.”

“My God!”

“Don, you need to know. I’ve called the police.”

Don nodded, taking it all in. “Of course, you needed to. Of course.” He looked like his world was about to fall apart. 

Mike came to him and gripped his shoulders firmly. “You won’t be under suspicion, Don. You were with me when it happened.”

Don kept nodding, visibly shaking. “I should go,” he said, his eyes darting to the door.

“No you shouldn’t,” said Mike, with some authority in his voice. “If you run you really will look suspicious. Calm yourself, you’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Damn you, Mike, you don’t know!” shouted Don, pulling free of his grip. “You don’t know!”

“You didn’t kill Mrs White, Don,” said Mike, patiently. 

“No, but I did...” Don froze, suddenly aware of what he was about to confess.

“You did what?” Mike stepped towards him, determined to know the full story, once and for all. 

Don closed his eyes. He was going to have to tell him everything and pray that he wasn’t despised as a consequence. He opened his mouth to take a deep breath, only to be momentarily saved by the sound of approaching sirens signalling the arrival of the police. 

Mike put his hand on Don’s chin, lifting it and forcing him to open his eyes. “You will tell me,” he said. “But later. For now, just keep quiet and let me do the talking.”

Don nodded and allowed himself to be led back to the scene of the crime. 

********

The interviews with the Police went better than anybody expected. They used the drawing room as a base and took statements from all the people in the house that day, namely Colonel Mustard, Don, Fred Simpkins, the parlour maid, the Vet and two gardeners. Making allowances for a man of such high standing, they allowed Mike to stay in the room while they spoke to Don, who had answered their questions quietly but honestly.

Afterwards, Detective Inspector Jackson stood by the doorway of the study watching the forensics department taking their samples, Mrs White’s body already having been removed by Ambulance. He nodded politely to Colonel Mustard as he joined him. 

“Any clues?” asked Mike. 

“Not yet sir,” admitted Jackson. “Although I have to say your decision to allow the gypsies to set up camp on your land is a questionable one.”

“May I say, Detective Inspector,” said Mike, trying to keep the sarcasm out of his voice, “that to me your observation is a tad prejudicial. Just because they are gypsies does not automatically mean they are capable of murder.”

“I knew your Father,” said Jackson, raising an eyebrow. “And I have to say he would have echoed my views.”

“Well I’m not my Father and I don’t.”

“Sir?” They were interrupted by one of the forensics experts. 

“Yes? What is it?” asked Jackson, moving to one side so they could speak in relative privacy.

“Suggested motive, sir. A drawer full of jewellery.”

“I see.” Jackson turned back to the Colonel. “Could you take a look please, sir. Without touching anything of course. Let me know if anything is missing?”

The Colonel walked over to his desk and peered at the now open drawer, trying to think about any pieces that may be missing. Something stood out to him immediately. 

“My Grandmother’s emerald bracelet,” he confirmed.

“I see,” said Jackson. “Value?”

“About twenty thousand pounds.”

The Detective made some notes in his book. “And why are all these jewels in your desk drawer and not locked away?”

“I was cataloguing them for insurance purposes.”

“Alone?”

“No, with Mr Demarco.”

“Hmm.” The words the Detective chose not to say spoke volumes. 

“I don’t like your tone, Detective Inspector,” said Colonel Mustard, his voice low. “Whatever you are insinuating, you are wrong. Mr Demarco was with me all afternoon, including at the time when Mrs White was so terribly killed.”

“And what about his friends down at the gypsy camp? Were they all with you all afternoon?”

“No, of course not. But I’m telling you something right now. You are on the wrong track. The gypsy camp is a red herring.”

“In your opinion, Colonel. But I will investigate it further.”

“I would expect nothing less,” said the Colonel, as he walked away. 

******** 

“Buy you a drink, lady?”

Miss Scarlet glared up at the man leering down at her, grabbed his sleeve and pulled him down onto the seat beside her. “About time too,” she hissed. “I don’t need a drink, you fool.” Her usual cool demeanour had been worn away by too long a wait in the public bar of the local pub. Miss Vivienne Scarlet was not one to frequent pubs at the best of times, and certainly not the public bar. 

“Come on now, Viv dear. There’s no need to be nasty.” The man took a long pull on his pint of bitter. “What have you got for me?”

She reached out for her gin and tonic, carefully exposing the emerald bracelet on her wrist as she did so. His eyes caught the glitter of the jewels immediately. “Nice bit of tom,” he commented.

“Owen, you know what I need. How much will you give me for it?” she asked, trying and failing not to look desperate.

“It’s real, I take it?” he asked, interested but not enough to be too curious about its origins.

“Don’t push your luck! Of course it’s real. Now how much?”

“If it’s real, and I mean if, then I reckon...” He thought about it a moment, of how much he would get for each stone if he broke it up. “Five grand.”

“Five? My God, man, it’s worth three times that!”

“Not to me, darlin, not when I’m the one who’s got to get rid of the stones. Five grand or nothing.”

She paused, considering her options. She didn’t really have any. She had to get rid of the blasted thing before the murder was discovered, if it hadn’t been already. “Done,” she said, somewhat reluctantly.

“I can give you an advance now, but I’ll have to sell it on before you can have the rest,” said Owen, thrusting a bundle of notes into her handbag. “You know the score.”

“Yes, all right. But as soon as you get it you find me, right?”

Owen smiled, exposing at least three missing teeth. “Oh don’t you worry, I’ll find you all right.”

Chapter Five

Don resisted the temptation to turn around and wave as he walked casually away from the house. Although Mike was fully occupied with a house full of people and police to deal with, Don knew he would be watching him out of the drawing room window until he disappeared from view. Unable to resist he put his hands in his trouser pockets, provocatively pulling the denim tighter as he strolled across the lawn. He might only be gone a few hours but it did as well to make his new lover remember what he would be missing. Not that there was much chance of him forgetting, the way they’d been going at it the last few days. And now this terrible thing had happened, something that was bound to throw despair and confusion into their newly found happiness. 

Unable to fully accept Mike’s reassurances about his innocence and alibi, he had decided to go back to his van to collect his last remaining belongings. The Police had spoken to him once, he didn’t really want to hang around encouraging them to do so again. 

An hour later and he was crouched on the floor of his little home on wheels, packing up the few possessions he had managed to protect from the many years of travel during his turbulent life. 

As he zipped his holdall shut he suddenly remembered his passport and set about searching the drawers and cupboards for it. Engaged as he was in the act of opening and closing every hidey-hole he could find, he almost missed the mumbled conversation taking place immediately behind his caravan. But then he tuned in, recognising one of the voices as his friend, Paddy. He knelt on the bench seat and peered through the half net curtains to see what was going on. 

Paddy appeared to be engrossed in a conversation with another man, someone Don didn’t know. Don heard the words, ‘cash’ and ‘tom’ and he frowned as he tried hard to hear the rest. Then something happened that left him with no doubt. Believing their activities to be un-witnessed, the man produced a sparkling bracelet from his pocket and showed it to Paddy.

Don sat back on the bench seat with a thump. He’d seen that bracelet before. 

Picking up his holdall, he opened the door to his caravan as quietly as possible and crept down the metal steps. As he pushed the door shut with a click a voice coming from behind the van made him freeze. 

“Going somewhere?”

He looked up to see Paddy and his contact looking intently at him. “I came back for my stuff,” he said, showing them the bag and throwing them what he hoped was a convincing smile. 

“So why all the sneaking around, eh Owen?” asked Paddy, taking a step forward.

“You’d almost think he was acting suspicious, like,” agreed Owen, moving around behind Don. 

“I’m not acting suspicious, I just didn’t want a fuss,” said Don, looking from one to the other. 

“Been getting mighty cosy with the gentry up at the big house,” said Paddy. “We seen ya.” Don knew his time was up. They knew he’d seen them with the bracelet and they weren’t going to let him go. 

“That’s nice for you,” said Don, then with a huge burst of energy he swung his bag at Owen catching him full in the stomach. Paddy leapt at him and Don let fly with his fists, punching him in the face as hard as he could. But Owen recovered quickly and pulled him down from behind, his arm tight around Don’s neck. Once Don was immobilised on the floor Paddy kicked him hard in the ribs and then aimed again, this time for his head. As Don lost consciousness he was sure he could hear someone laughing and had the very strange feeling that it sounded a lot like a woman. 

********

As the Police finished clearing up the crime scene in readiness to leave Mike kept out of the way in the kitchen, a cup of tea in front of him and his head in his hands. What a terrible experience. He couldn’t help wondering if he had done anything at all to contribute to Mrs White’s death. What if it had been the gypsies after all and he had allowed them to stay on his land? He would never forgive himself. A sound in the doorway caught his attention. Hoping it was Don returning he looked up quickly and had to hide the look of disappointment on his face when he saw that it was Vivienne, predictably dressed to the nines in cream slacks and silk blouse with a soft pashmina draped delicately across her shoulders. She paused in the doorway using her usual trick of making sure that she had his full attention. 

“Tired, darling?” she asked, her voice soft.

He looked at his watch. Four hours had gone by since he had last seen Don. He chewed his lip as an uneasy feeling crept through his veins. 

“You always do that when you’re worried,” she continued, walking over to perch on the corner of his table. “What can I do to help?”

“Find Don and tell him I need him,” he said, the honesty of voicing his feelings making his voice crack a little. 

Unfortunately the depths of Mike’s feelings were totally lost on Vivienne. “Mike, sweetie, I have some bad news for you about Don,” she said. 

“What? What news?” He scowled at her. 

“Well, I met up with a charming ex boyfriend yesterday, Gerald Smythe. I don’t think you know Uncle Gerald, do you? No of course not,” she answered her own question quickly. “How could you.” This obviously wasn’t meant to be a two way conversation. “He’s rather high up in The House, you know. I don’t need to mention whose Under Secretary he is, it wouldn’t be polite to name drop.”

“Get to the point, Vivienne,” said Mike, sharply. 

She sailed on, regardless. “The thing is, Uncle Gerald can get all sorts of information if you ask him nicely, he’s particularly fond of pillow talk.” She giggled at her own humour before continuing.” You’d be surprised what he can find out about people. In fact he can be amazingly useful at times for a stuffy old stick.”

“Vivienne.” This was a warning. Mike stood up and looked down at her. “What are you trying to say?”

“Well it’s about your friend Don. We got talking and one thing led to another and I explained the situation...”

She had finally pushed her luck. Mike was exhausted from the labours of the day and suddenly he was filled with fear that something had happened to Don. He snapped. 

“What do you know, Vivienne?” he snarled, he reached out to grab at the back of her head, allowing his fingers to tighten and pull cruelly on her hair. “What do you fucking well know?”

Vivienne realised she had underestimated him. Her eyes flashed with fear. “Don isn’t Don,” she stammered. “His name is Eugene O’Sullivan. He’s wanted by the police for robbery. He escaped from prison!”

“You little bitch,” he spat at her, letting go of her hair and putting a hand around her throat instead. “You just couldn’t wait to put the boot in, could you?”

“He’s no good for you, Mike, why can’t you see that?” She was hysterical, the tears in her eyes genuine for once. 

Mike towered over her, both hands around her neck now. “If you ever,” he hissed, “repeat what you’ve just said to anyone else, I will find you and kill you. Do I make myself clear?”

She looked up into the eyes of a killer. She had been stupid to think of him just as a rich prospective husband. This man had a seriously dangerous background and she knew he was more than capable of carrying out his threat. Dreadfully aware of the squeeze of every finger she cautiously nodded. “Yes, Mike. I’m sorry.”

“What have you done with Don?” he demanded. 

“Nothing!” she replied. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!” It didn’t matter that she was telling the truth. The red mist had come down, to obscure Mike’s view of the world and he wasn’t going to stop until he found his lover. 

He released her but then immediately grabbed hold of her thin arm and started to pull her out of the kitchen. “Where are we going?” she cried. He dragged her along behind him through the hallway to the study where he found Detective Inspection Jackson, getting ready to leave. 

“What’s wrong here?” asked Jackson. 

“She knows more than she’s telling,” said Mike, not easing his hold on her arm one bit. “I think we need to get to the gypsy camp, right now!”

********

The Colonel leaned down low over Nelly’s long neck urging her on faster and faster. Although the police were on their way to the camp with Vivienne secured in the back of one of the Panda cars, it was a difficult place to reach by road and Mike knew he would get there faster on horseback. As he approached the clearing his heart sank, realising that his worst fears had been justified. Three of the caravans had already gone and all that was left was Don’s van and one other, currently in the process of being hitched up to a transit van by two men who were presumably its owners. 

Mike quickly decided against the direct approach. Dismounting, he tied Nelly to a tree and circled around the camp using the woodland as cover. This way he was able to approach Don’s caravan from the rear without the other men seeing him. As silently as possible he ran the last few yards from the trees to the van and levered himself up enough to be able to peer through the window. His heart thudded in his chest when he saw Don, unconscious and tied up on the floor. About to move around the front to rescue his friend, he froze when he heard voices. 

“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” said one, apparently breathless from the exertions of hitching up the caravan. 

“I’m not leaving him alive,” said the other.

“Well get on with it then!”

Then Mike heard a strange sloshing noise, like water being poured. Perhaps they were dousing the fire to make sure it was out? Suddenly, he smelt it - the unmistakable odour of paraffin. With horror he realised that the noise and the smell were both coming his way – they were going to set fire to the caravan! Knowing that the Police weren’t far behind him didn’t help one bit; he knew he had no time left. With a roar he ran out from behind the caravan and leapt at the first man he saw, getting hold of him by the neck and dragging him to the floor. As they fought the other man tried to join in but Mike swung his adversary first one way they the other, using him as a shield against the second man. His army training kicked in and he fought with every dirty trick he’d ever learnt in his life, knowing that he was doing so not only to save himself but Don too. When the second man came at him once again Mike aimed a swift and sure kick between the man’s legs and he collapsed to the floor, howling. 

The first man, who Mike now recognised as Paddy, put his hands up in surrender and backed away from the ferocious Colonel.

“Stand still!” Mike ordered. Embracing the stereotype for what it was, he allowed the relief to flood through his body as wailing sirens heralded the arrival of the Police. Constables ran into the clearing and apprehended both men, the satisfying snap of handcuffs bringing a small smile to Mike’s lips. Happy they could not now get away, he pulled open the door to Don’s caravan and leapt inside, falling to his knees at the side of his lovers battered and bruised body. Shaky fingers untwisted the twine that was securing Don’s wrists tight behind him, then he leant over him to try to see how badly he was hurt. 

The resulting groan was music to his ears. Eyelashes fluttering, Don opened his eyes. Mike waited with baited breath to hear his lover’s words which, when they came, were admittedly something of an anticlimax. 

“Can I smell fucking petrol?”

********

Don relaxed back in the passenger seat of the Police car, waiting to be given a lift back to the Grange. Mike propped his arms on the open car door as they spoke to Detective Inspector Jackson, who was busy scribbling in his note book.

“So they had the emerald bracelet?” he checked, looking down at Don who nodded in reply, wincing as he immediately regretted the action . 

“Do you think they killed Mrs White for it?” asked Mike. 

At that moment Paddy was being led past them towards the Police ‘meat wagon’ and he overheard the tail end of their conversation. “You’re not stitching me up for murder!” he shouted at them. “You speak to that bitch if you want to know who killed the old woman!”

The three men looked at one another, momentarily stunned, then turned to look at Vivienne who had been standing patiently out of the way by the back of one the caravans. She saw them all looking at her and her face turned white. One nervous step backwards turned into two and then she was running, fast. 

“Damn!” Jackson took off after her along with another uniformed officer, the others still engaged in securing Paddy and Owen. 

Mike made as if to go with them but then felt a hand on his arm, stopping him. “Don’t Mike,” said Don, shakily. “Let them.”

Mike nodded his agreement but turned to watch as she careered down the bank to the river, swollen to a high level by the recent rain. High heels that would have struggled with Kensington High Street finally gave up the ghost and she tumbled, falling face first into the river bed. With a sickening feeling in his stomach, Mike realised that the resulting strange snapping sound had been Vivienne’s neck breaking as she fell awkwardly downward. Mike stared, unable to believe his eyes, as in the background he heard one of the uniformed officers calling for an ambulance. 

Vaguely aware of Jackson dragging her out of the river and trying to give her mouth to mouth, Mike knew at once that they were too late. She had gone.

******** 

Far from returning to normal, life became somewhat awkward after the trauma of the last few days. At first Don brushed off any attempts Mike made to molly coddle him, insisting that he be left alone for his bruises to heal in their own good time, thank you very much. Mike recognised the same self protection device that he used himself when he was hurt - don’t touch me, leave me alone - so he did his best to comply. Slowly they found their way through the pain and accompanying mood swings until, one sunny afternoon, Mike had abruptly had enough. Intercepting Don as he emerged from the shower, he took his hand and led him down a darkened corridor to one of the closed off formal bedrooms. 

Together they stood in the darkness of the room, the closed heavy drapes blocking out any trace of sunlight. They created a darkness so velvety it seemed unreal. Blindly, they found their way to the bed and pulled aside the thick, musty curtains that were pulled tight around the ancient four poster, obliterating light, evicting air. 

Clothes and bathrobes were thrown to the floor, then two bodies entwined on top of covers so old they were listed. 

Breathless excitement. 

Whispered words.

“Oh Christ, make me come.”

The combined need to lavish equal pleasure on the other, meant only one position suited the job. Curling around each other they managed to both lie on their sides, Don at the pillow end and Mike at the other. Passion outweighed awkwardness and as two cocks were taken deep into two waiting mouths, they each managed a groan of satisfaction. Eventually it was Don who moved first, unhappy that he couldn’t concentrate on what he was doing to Mike, because of what Mike was doing to him. Both being highly resourceful men, however, they soon found a way. 

********

Mike spooned in behind his lover, fitting his body neatly behind every limb. He took a deep breath. “Don,” he said. “I don’t want us to have any secrets.”

The body in his arms stiffened then rolled towards him. Don raised himself up on his elbows. “What secrets?” he asked, not wanting to know where this was going.

“Vivienne told me about Eugene O’Sullivan.”

Don sat bolt upright in the bed. “Shit, Mike! You could’ve warned me! When did she tell you?”

Mike sat up with him, reaching a hand out to sooth him. “It’s okay, she didn’t tell anyone else.”

“Oh yeah?” Don got up, throwing the four poster curtains to one side as he ran a shaky hand through his hair. He took a step forward and felt the floor tipping up to meet him, forcing him to sit down on the bed before he fell down. In despair, he put his head in his hands, his mind racing away from him. If he stayed he’d be arrested, he didn’t doubt it for a moment. And all his sordid past would be exposed, all his old wounds wrenched open for Mike to see. He’d rather leave him love sick than be hated forever. There was no choice. He had to run. Recognising the rising panic he tried in vain to calm himself. 

Then he felt Mike’s solid warmth pull him back into an embrace and he turned into it, trying his utmost not to break down completely. 

“Ssshh,” whispered Mike, “it’s okay. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have dropped that bombshell on you. But you’ll see, it’ll be okay.”

“How?” stammered Don. “If you know what happened then you’ll know I can’t stay.”

“There are only two people alive who know,” said Mike, reassuringly, as he ran his hand gently up and down his lover’s back trying to sooth him as much as he could. “And they’re both here in this room. Trust me.” 

Don was instantly taken back to the moment when he had shaved Mike’s moustache off. He had asked for his trust then and received it without question. Now it was his turn to trust and, with a warmth that filled his heart, he realised that he already did. 

********

Don woke up slowly, memories coming back sweetly and surely as he risked a glimpse of the man now resting comfortably and trustfully in the crook of his arm. Thoughts inevitably drew back through his past, images of the women he had loved. One he married, drunkard though she was, she had betrayed him so badly it was loathe rather than love by the time she died. The other he cherished, flighty and childlike, she had taken to the circus life after bestowing a heavy crush on him. Like everything else she had done since her husband had died, it didn’t last. And one day he had awoken to find her gone, a stupid note left on the pillow. And now... now he found himself with his heart taken once again, this time by a military gentleman who seemed to adore the ground Don walked on. He ran a finger lightly down the side of Mike’s face, encouraging his gentle waking. 

Mike smiled and reached forward for a kiss, which he naturally received without question. “This place really feels like home with you here,” he whispered. 

“I’ve always wanted a proper home and someone to share it with,” confessed Don, shyly. 

“I just wanted someone to love me for who I am, not for what heirs I could produce,” Mike replied, running his fingers through his lover’s hair, gently twirling each of the curls in turn.

“No risk of that with me in your life,” said Don, his eyes crinkling into a smile.

“No.” Mike agreed. “Don, can I ask you something?”

Don rubbed his face against Mike’s shoulder. “Anything.”

“That first day, when we saw each other at the Gypsy camp. What did you say to me as you walked away?”

“Oh.” Don looked up into deep blue eyes. “I wondered how long it would take before you asked me.”

“So what was it?”

“A gypsy curse, of sorts.”

“Oh nice! You cursed me?”

Don placed his finger on Mike’s lips, effectively silencing him. “Those who are greedy will be poor. Those who oppress will be oppressed. Those who are superior will be humbled. Those who start wars will meet end with war. Those who love will find love.” He removed his finger.

“That’s a long curse,” said Mike, his eyes now suspiciously bright in the darkness.

“Gypsies always make sure their curses are unique and made for each person, just in case they curse someone else by mistake.”

“So you made it for me?”

“Yes.”

“And has it come true?”

Don pressed his lips softly against Mike’s and spoke the last line again, the words going straight from his mouth to his lovers. “Those who love will find love,” he whispered, closing his eyes as the kiss blissfully deepened.


End file.
